“No disrespect to you, but I don’t think you’re able to say anything about Mia. You don’t know her, and if you and I are going to maintain any type of civil relationship, I need you to stay out of our business.”
“I’ve been nothing but kind to her, but you two misrepresented your relationship to me.”
“No, we didn’t. We were platonic friends when I referred her for the job and things grew from there. But again, that’s none of your business, Miranda. You and I are over and we’ve been over, right?”
“Right.”
She stands and gets back into the golf cart.
“Get that face looked at, Rush. It’s your money maker once you retire from the game.”
“Will do.”
As the cart drives away, I see Mia mid field. I don’t know how long she was watching us, but I know it couldn’t have looked good from that distance.
We both gaze at each other for what seems like an eternity, then she wipes what must be a tear from under her eye and using her crutches she limps away.
I hang my head in my hands and damn near cry myself.
Will I ever have my Bird back in my arms again?
Thirty-Four
MIA
The Nighthawks are playingtheir fourth and final preseason game in New Orleans tomorrow afternoon, but tonight I’m sitting on the deck of my hotel suite in the French Quarter, stress eating two beignets and watching an old episode ofThe Masked Singeron my laptop. I’m waiting for them to unmask the snail I think, but honestly I could give two shits.
I’m learning that when the team goes on the road, it’s our job to help with any ankle, knee or wrist wrapping before the game and to be on the sidelines in case of injury during the game. Otherwise, we aren’t doing much.
I’ve always wanted to tour New Orleans, but I will not take a tour of a city by myself with this bum knee of mine. If I needed to run, I’d be up shit’s creek. This would be a good time in my life to have a girlfriend to chat with, but sadly I don’t have any. After my move to New Jersey, I gradually lost touch with my teammates and I only speak to Pearl on Christmas and my birthday. I was friendly with everyone I met at Phoenixville, including Mr. B, but I made no real friends there.
I didn’t think I needed them.
I always had Rush.
It’s when I’m most vulnerable like this that I make stupid decisions like call my mother and hope for once she could be a source of comfort to me. I know that’s probably not a good bet to make, but I do it anyway.
Sometimes a girl just wants to talk to her mom.
“Mandy?”
“Mia?”
I can hear the confusion in her voice. This is actually very sad that her daughter calling her is a source of bewilderment for her.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Tired.”
“Did you work a double today?”
“Well, no Mia, or I wouldn’t be home.”
“Right.”
“So, what’s up?”
“You got the check right?”
